Rage Against The Marine
by boredofthis
Summary: The odds are stacked against the Imperial Guard in this defense of a strategically crucial area, in the form of World Eater Chaos Space Marines. Feryne must take control of a bad plan which has descended into Chaos...


Three hundred men.  
  
Three hundred men.  
  
Against fifty thousand World Eater Chaos Space Marines.

Fifty thousand.  
  
The odds were stacked highly against them.

Captain Edmond Feryne breathed deeply and loaded a fresh clip into his lasrifle, and slowly, deliberately, picked up and turned over his heavily modified laspistol, taking in the beautiful etchings and graceful weight of the weapon. He put the gun on his finger. It balanced perfectly. This ritual would take place before every planned attack - or defense in this case - it calmed him, seeing his weapon at such ease.  
  
He glanced up at the murky sky. Rain started to fall, cascading down delivering its own barrage upon the men.

It was time to go into battle.  
  
The three hundred lined the banks of the valley, heavily camouflaged. He could see the strategically placed sharpshooters at the mouth of the valley, placed to eliminate drivers, operators or anyone important. He could see the area where the five Death Squadrons sat, in their underground network of tunnels, waiting. Everyone had been given their briefing. Conserve ammunition, shoot at clusters – firing on one was a waste of ammo. Wait till the main body reaches halfway through the valley before firing.

Shooting at clusters shouldn't be a problem, there were fifty thousand stinking, warped space marines to choose from.  
  
'Captain, do think this might actually work?'

It was Reeves. The rookie, always asking questions. He did it to cover up the fact that he was shitting one before every battle.

Feryne saw no point in lying. 'I doubt it. This is likely to be our last stand. Back to your post.'

The lad nodded, and scampered back to his position.  
  
'There was no need to tell the kid that. He doesn't need to know he's going to die.'

Herald Larson. The father of the team. Someone for the men to look up to, rookies and vets alike. A long time friend of Feryne's. They went back a long way, like something from a fairytale, they had fought so many battles together. Spilt blood together.

'Well Herald, it's the truth, isn't it?'

Herald said nothing. He checked the ammo belt was feeding correctly, his own nervous tick.

Feryne turned to look at the approaching Choas hoarde.

'That's what I thought.'

He flicked guard on his lasrifle, making its token clunk as it switched from 'SAFE' to 'LIVE'.  
  
He made sure his sword was where it was - easily reachable.

Now he was ready.

The World Eaters' approach could be heard for miles away - part of the reason the Guard had no trouble planning ahead for their arrival. The noise they made was beyond all comprehension. Voices screeched, yelled and whooped – uncountable, all mixing and swirling to make what seemed like one, inhuman noise. Many Guardsmen claimed it seemed to cut through the air, as if seeking out human souls within the vicinity.

They also said it struck fear into the hearts of the strongest men.

Whole platoons of veterans had been known to scatter like children when face to face with these corrupted, filth-ridden Marines. Feryne knew a man once who had said it wasn't so much their appearance.

No, it was that, as you stared up at the tall armour-clad figure, and as you peer at the menacingly warped helmet, you realised that these monstrosities were once human. Not just any human, but the Emperor's finest.

The worst thing of all, said the man, was that they welcomed their corruption.

Feryne reassured himself. He was ready. His men were well-drilled – bar Reeves – and he was confident in their ability as soldiers. He'd seen them through over thirty campaigns. They had seen, and done, more in the twenty years he had been with them, than some 'veterans' had in a lifetime. He was not ashamed to say he was proud. They all deserved honours. And in some twisted way, most of them would receive that today. Release. Release was what they all craved. But right now, there was only war.  
  
As the mass approached the ravine, the murky sky changed to black – a token sign that chaos was brooding. The clouds began to swirl at unnatural speeds, into unnatural shapes, turning the pending battle scene into something much more sinister. The legion kept up their marching speed, and as they arrived at the mouth of the ravine, they stopped.  
  
All noise from the Chaos filth cut out.  
  
Silence.

Feryne felt his chest tighten. This was wrong. This never happened. Perhaps they knew it was a trap, perhaps the men should fall back? He looked again, through his scope this time, focusing on an individual World Eater. The infected one's head was moving from side to side, as if scanning for something. It wasn't looking, more...roving.

Above all, it appeared they were just waiting for something.

Or someone.

Feryne decided his men should be prepped. Something wasn't right here.  
  
He strode down his line of men, some giving nods, others small salutes. He said the same thing to every man – the readying order,  
  
'Make good your weapon and sword. Check your clip is fresh, your rifle charged. Most of all, check your blade is sharp.'  
Further down the line, crouched, was Corporal Brytis. He stood, rifle in hand, ready to assault these corrupted monsters. The rage that consumed him when they fought Chaos entities was overpowering, all consuming – and he relished in it. As the hordes of pitted metal carapaces filed into the valley Brytis felt a throbbing in his temples. The pain increased until he had to drop his rifle to hold his head. His chest seemed to heave, every breath becoming an immense effort – it felt like he was being suffocated. His chest felt like a great weight was being laid upon it, all the while blood was rushing to his head.  
  
'Are you okay Corporal?'  
  
He could barely distinguish the words. He turned his head to try and locate the voice and the person. As he turned his head, his view was blurred, merged into a wash of drab colour. A face loomed into his view – it was a fellow soldier – he thought – but as he focused his throbbing head on the face, it began to contort into something evil, something from his nightmares. It sneered at him momentarily, then engulfed his view, causing his head to explode.  
  
Feryne heard it before he saw it: that sound of a skull exploding and grey matter showering a metre radius was unmistakable.  
  
So it had begun.  
  
Herald was already rallying the men who were coated in blood and tissue as Feryne turned to see a headless figure, slump, then cascade down the steep slope like a discarded ragdoll.  
  
There would be no retreat now.


End file.
